I wouldn’t call myself a ‘party person.’
I’d never even gone out clubbing or bar crawling outside of VR.
Alcohol just wasn’t my thing, not to ntion the taste was just a bit too off-putting.
However, there was sothing different about tonight.
Maybe it was the fact that the main attraction — alcohol — was a physical impossibility for .
Or maybe it was the simple fact that this wasn’t your typical bar, club, pub, let alone a space pub.
Maybe, just maybe, it had to do with the fact that we were in a certified tavern in another world.
And that notion? Of actively partaking in festivities outside of ti and space, in a literal fantasy setting?
Well… suffice it to say it just ticked all of the boxes in my ‘impossible dreams’ bucket list.
Floorboards creaked as crowds gathered around the impromptu dance floor where tables and chairs had been cast, tossed, or pushed gently aside for the purposes of song, dance, and shenanigans.
My tired body was sohow sucking in energy from the electrifying atmosphere around us as fiddles wailed, violins screeched, lutes twanged, and drums thumped to the beat of so bardic tunes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP went the beat, as about half of the tavern’s patrons tapped their toes and bounced their heels against the scuffed and worn oaken floorboards beneath their feet.
THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM the lutes resonated, leading the charge as violas and violins ZWINGED and PLINKED to the fast-paced rhythm of the surprisingly bassy drums.
Then ca the vocals, as dialects that might as well have been from half the Nexus away sung in a deep, rich, warbly, and tinny sequence, their tones ducking and weaving against the lody of the strings, creating this weird, whiny lancholy, which shouldn’t have fit with the fast-paced beat of the ever-evolving tune.
But sohow it did. Especially with the EVI’s translation suite turned off, allowing for the voices of the vocalists to seep through, unimpeded by code and algorithms.
There were no more attempts at localization.
Instead, there was just the enjoynt of the piece as it was ant to be enjoyed — raw and in its purest of forms.
I felt my heart fluttering and my spine tingling to the otherworldly timbre of the pair of lead elf and dwarven singers that carried this raw, earthy resonance underpinning each and every note.
The dancing ca naturally, but what ca next ca even more so.
It started at the end of the last peak, as this eight-minute piece was about to crescendo.
Like a subtle but powerful urge to join in on the action, egged on by so invisible force and spurred on by the increased emphasis on the beat of the drums.
clap
Ca the first brave soul.
Clap-clap
Ca another.
CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP
The whole hall erupted into an impromptu orchestra of barehanded percussionists, as even the wallflowers joined in to drive the tune onwards, their palm strikes threatening to overpower the band on stage.
Then, just as we reached the loudest extent of the percussion, everything stopped.
The beat slowed to a crawl, the instruntals llowed out. But the vocalists?
They just kept on going.
The sudden shift in direction was more than just whiplash.
It was ear-tinglingly satisfying.
The elf and dwarf duo pushed forwards into this weird mix of high and low notes before harmonizing right at the end and capping the whole thing off with a sudden and abrupt THUMP of both feet and drums.
The whole room went quiet as all dancers stopped mid-stride.
Then ca the applause, as shouts, cheers, and even more alcohol were spread amidst the parched dancers.
I, for one, had to settle for the little sippy straw helpfully extended to by the EVI, and as I sucked greedily, I quietly thanked the spirits of the brave and intrepid pioneers that had co before for the sweat-wicking qualities of the undersuit’s balaclava.
Otherwise, I’d probably have a fair bit of sweat stinging my eyes with no way of rectifying it.
Now that would be a mood killer…
“Ladies and gentlen, wayward travelers and weary locals alike, may I have your attention!” The bardic troupe on stage spoke in unison before their elven leader took charge. “It has co to our attention that many of us here today owe a great deal to two very important highborns amidst our ranks. Not only for the food and drink — though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that wasn’t a big part of it—” He paused, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd. “—but also for their selfless and heroic acts on this unforgettable day. Let’s hear it for the heroes of Marsh’s Pond!”
“HEAR HEAR!” The whole tavern roared to life, as instead of any clean hip hip hoorays or organized series of claps, the scene instead descended into the purest form of appreciation — hoots, hollers, yells, and whistles. Amidst, of course, the drunken cheers of admiration from those indulging from the endless tap of Thalmin’s generosity.
“And now with that out of the way, I’d like to make a proposal…” The elf grinned widely, gesturing towards us as the crowd parted ways as if to emphasize this unexpected new developnt. “I invite either of you to serenade the closing hours of tonight’s celebrations!”
The crowd went wild at this proposition, as several table slams and chorus-like chanting egged both of us on.
I found myself turning to Thalmin once more as we locked eyes in a haze of confusion.
“I think I’m going to sit this one out, Emma.” Thalmin spoke quietly, half his focus taken by the power of drink and the other half by his seemingly futile efforts to keep his distance from the ever-growing crowd of fawning admirers threatening to stampede him.
“Oh, don’t worry.” I smiled excitedly. “I’ve been waiting for this mont… though are you sure you’ll be able to handle the…” I pointed towards the crowd that had grown to critical mass, as Thalmin responded by simply—
[ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED: 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS]
—forming an invisible barrier between himself and the aforentioned swarm.
“I think I can handle myself, Emma. Besides… I’m excited to see what you have in store.”
The Township of Sips. The Inn. Tavern Lobby. Local Ti: 2240 Hours.
Thalmin
I watched in flighty anticipation as Emma took to the stage, my eyes narrowing as she whispered sothing to the strings and percussionists, all the while dismissing the vocalists to the back.
What happened next wasn’t what I’d at all expected, as the earthrealr suddenly — and rather inexplicably — conjured a strangely flat and oddly shaped lute of manaless light before her very being.
Or, at least, that’s what I assud the ghostly shell of an instrunt was. Because instead of a cohesive object, what had ford was a fractured spectral facsimile of a lute. It was as if the instrunt was stuck in so sort of ethereal limbo, with its brightest and most defined edges clinging near the source of light on her forearm, while the rest of its oddly shaped mass trailed off into a ghostly shadow.
And while the crowds were blindly impressed by this sudden display of ‘magic’, it would be the innkeeper and myself who seed to be the only ones perceptive enough to feel the discrepancy between its magic-like form and the absolute deadness of its presence within the local manastreams.
Though I could care less for the uneasiness it caused, given both experience and ale had dulled my wary proclivities.
“Alrighty, folks! This is an oldie— er, well, it’s an oldie where I co from at least.” Emma began with frisson, barely stifling a stutter as she turned to the percussionist, giving him a nod before turning back to the crowd, her fingers poised against the construct of light and air.
Then, it started.
Taking everyone by surprise, it began with a brazen flourish like a lute possessed, its strings bit with a tallic brightness no gut nor tal-strung harp could match. The noises, these sounds, struck out in bold repeating patterns, moving up and down with Emma’s twiddling fingers that plucked at nothing but the air itself.
These were hamr blows dressed in music, carrying neither the refinent of court compositions nor the primal bluntness of lowborn music, but instead… sothing in between.
I could feel the rhythm of marching feet and festival drums made into a lody, as this tallic lattice of notes roused the body before the mind was able to catch up to its aning.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
I didn’t understand where to even put it.
But what I did know was that I was now possessed by the spirits to dance.
I moved in uncoordinated motions, twisting, turning, flailing arms this way and that, all the while ensuring the barrier to the unscrupulous masses held firm… lest I be swallowed in their wake.
The crowds did much of the sa, most of them simply moving to the strange and bizarre beat, whilst others tried but failed to match their well-rehearsed tavern dancing to the tune of this Earthrealm piece.
Then ca the lyrics.
I didn’t know what I expected.
But I was relieved that Emma’s vocals were at least as practiced as her strumming.
Each harsh and rasping twang of her bizarre instrunt was matched by the coarseness of her voice — her real voice — as I understood not a single word of what she sang.
The gibberish, however, was at least pleasant to hear.
Every word swaggered while the notes within seed to stumble on purpose, drunk on its own prose.
Repetition and chorus dominated the piece, but that just made the verses and bridges all the more impactful.
Yet despite the competency of her voice, I couldn’t help but focus on that otherworldly instrunt itself, its sounds, and the inherent reverberating echo it seed to generate.
Each stroke sounded as if several lutes had been rged together, each distinct voice becoming one of a greater tallic whole.
This was compounded the further the song went on, as Emma’s movents beca increasingly erratic, less composed, less repetitive, and more dynamic with every strum accompanied by a stomp of her foot and a swoosh of her body.
Then ca the flinging of her head as she moved back and forth in fierce and rhythmic motions, as if she was trying to shake the remaining notes of the song out of her skull.
This abrupt sequence culminated in what I could only describe as the carefree disregard of her nonexistent instrunt, as she swung it back and forth, up and down, even going so far as to hold it high above her head at one point, breaking all semblance of musicality and becoming outright noise.
Her sudden breakdown in composure culminated in her daring leap towards an elevated wooden platform behind the drumr. As she leapt with wild and reckless abandon—
CRACK— SQUCRDKFSHHHHHHH
—smashing it in the process.
The accompanying instrunts all but stopped at this point as Emma remained alone, ‘recovering’ from that fall by sliding across the varnished stage on both knees, strumming the lute of light with such ferocity that the pitch generated caused all within the crowd to cover their ears with hands, paws, and fins alike.
She held that ear-piercing note for three seconds more before she finally seed to register the disaster that had unfolded in her wake.
The crowds remained silent, in varying states of stunned, confused, and of course… blackout drunk.
Though the latter didn’t seem to care how the festivities went either way.
All eyes remained transfixed on Emma and her disappearing lute of light, as she abruptly sent it off as suddenly as it had appeared before addressing the crowd with a nervous cough.
“I… I guess you guys probably aren’t ready for that yet. Sorry about that, folks.”
Yet despite the apology, a few lonely claps erged as even a satyr amidst the crowd held a dismissive chuckle to Emma’s sentints.
“While the ending may have been… unconventional, I’m certain my good-for-nothing sons would find the novelty alone charming.”
A series of mumbling acknowledgents followed before claps and cheers eventually filled the air.
However, amidst the applause, there remained two thoughts that naggingly lingered in my slightly inebriated mind.
One — that I had to get my hands on more pieces of… whatever this genre was.
Two — that those last few seconds of Emma’s performance revealed sothing else other than her highly questionable musical improvisation skills. Indeed, if one listened closely behind the high-pitched squeals of her strumming… there existed a very audible buzzing.
It was a strange sort of undercurrent. Almost like the ergent thrum when channeling lightning, but if I hazarded a guess…
It was a sound which could only have been generated by a very specific order of species…
Arachnids.
This revelation only added more fuel to the fires of my growing assertions.
Especially when one considers the fact that Emma had explicitly disabled her translation tools for the sake of her singing. Leading to believe that this was her natural undertone seeping through the cracks.
However, in my mont of reflection, I dared to tempt fate by failing to heed one of Uncle's first lessons.
Always be wary of your surroundings, runt. You never know when—
His ethereal words were cut short by the crowds that took this mont of weakness to swarm .
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Dragon Heart’s Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. Living Room. Local Ti: 2245 Hours
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Thacea
“So you don’t like bardic improvisation?” Ilunor continued.
“No.” I replied as plainly as I did at the start of this whole debacle.
“How about sunroom zeal?”
“No.”
“Hallway ambiance?”
“No.”
“Stairway ambiance?”
“No.”
“Reflections in Sound?”
“What?”
“Reflections in Sound, they’re an alternative bardic troupe that has gained so popularity in the crownlands over the last century. I’ve heard—”
“I don’t like alternative.”
“Oh? Are you certain? From what I’ve been able to gather, you seem to be a fan of neither contemporary nor classical, nor commoner, nor tavern, so I’d assud alternative would have been—”
“The so-called alternative movents you speak of are simply shortened, condensed, and truncated versions of their parent genres. Nothing more, but most certainly far less.”
“Then what do you like, princess?!” Ilunor finally gave up, shouting and pouting all the while.
“Nothing.”
“W-what? Nothing?! How can soone as seemingly cultured as yourself dare to give such a boorish answer?! Even commoners enjoy so sort of music, as debased and debauched as it may be!”
“You requested that I be frank, and so here I am, Ilunor. Being as frank as I am comfortable with." I retorted bluntly. “If you must insist on digging further, my answer is this: nothing speaks to . Court music is always as pompous as those who genuinely enjoy it. Orchestral compositions are impressive and easy on the ears, but are almost always repetitive and overstay their welco. It doesn’t help that one must sit and remain silent for hours on end in a room with far, far too many points of entry and too little exits to truly be safe in. And even when orchestral pieces try to beco anything but repetitive? They end up coming off as strange and unwieldy, complex for complexity’s sake, sounding more like jumbled noise than the frankly tolerable pieces they claim to iterate and improve over. I further dare to scoff at ballroom music. Individuals who enjoy ballroom music are the sa sort who would backstab you in a heartbeat.” I leveled my unflinching gaze towards Ilunor, locking him in the signature Avinor’s Glare. “I know that you understand precisely what I an, at least in that latter sentint.”
The Vunerian paused, giving those words genuine, intentful pondering; the first bout of what I could truly call reflection in the upstart kobold’s eyes.
“While I must disagree with the first two of your sentints… I cannot help but acknowledge the validity of the latter two.” He began with a crooked smile. “And here I thought I was the only one who found overly complex orchestral pieces to be hard on the ears, and only impressive to those looking into the technical and performative aspects of those pieces. Moreover, I am… glad to see that the ballroom music stereotype seems to transcend planar borders.” He chuckled dryly. “So then, princess… if you were to describe a genre that you would find tasteful, what would it be like?” He asked. This ti not in a fit of theatrics or social gas nor even in an inflammatory manner. Instead, this question seed to be unapologetically genuine, standing out from all others.
“Dark.” Ca my uncharacteristically curt answer.
“Dark? Oh co on, princess. We both know that the dark genre exists—”
“They are posers.” I slamd my book shut, much to Ilunor’s surprise. “It is clear, by their very composition, that they know nothing of suffering. They rely posit the facsimile of pain, shroud it in a paper-thin veneer of manufactured misery, and then transpose over what would technically qualify as dark overtures… though only in so much that they draft their compositions in a minor scale.”
Ilunor seed genuinely taken aback by that scathing teardown; his eyes widened as his posture reeled back.
Before finally, he let out a long wheezing laugh. “Oh princess… now this is the sort of thing we can bond over.” He paused for dramatic effect, opening both of his arms wide with excitent. “Moaning and lodrama!”
The Township of Sips. The Inn. En Route to The Royal Suite. Local Ti: 2300 Hours.
Emma
“Blue Knight?” The elven leader of the bardic troupe approached , stopping from saving Thalmin from the tidal wave of adoring commoners.
“Yeah? I kinda need to go, and erm, sorry about the property damage. I’ll have the inn pay for—”
“Oh, it’s not that, my lady. It’s just… we would like to know precisely what you just played?” His eyes grew wide, as did his gaggle of kobold and dwarven compatriots.
“Yes, yes! Tell us! We LOVED your noise!” The little kobold yipped out, prompting to sigh and nod in acknowledgent.
“It’s called Rock and Roll, or at least, most of it was. The last bit was just improvising and bleeding into random shredding that barely qualifies as hard rock or tal.” I offered, hoping and praying that the EVI was able to translate that.
The dwarf narrowed his eyes, scratching the base of his beard. “Rock and stone?”
“Nono, Rock and Roll.” I corrected him.
“I think Rock and Stone works better…” He countered.
“Of course you would…” The rest of the troupe grumbled, as I took that back and forth as my ticket to leave.
I quickly reentered the sea of rowdy patrons, as organized musical chaos had now descended into proper drunken pub-crawl anarchy in barely any ti at all.
With a few wide-ard motions, I managed to swim through the rowdy mass of bodies, finding Thalmin and eventually aiding him in his escape from his impromptu entourage.
“Alright, alright. Let’s break it up folks. My friend here is—” I was barely able to get out those scant few words before being sward myself. But instead of words of endearnt and confessions of impossibly saccharine love that Thalmin seed to receive, I instead got question upon question about the armor.
“Might m’lady wish to partake in the — HICCUP — celebratoryyy rousals of drink?” A drunken satyr spoke before being pushed quickly aside by a burly dwarf.
“That’s no way to speak to a knight in a vow of service! At least, that’s what I’m assuming the armor is all about, m’lady?” The dwarf butted in only to be sidestepped by an elf.
“A bit presumptuous of you to be assuming, isn’t that right, m’lady—”
“Let’s maybe talk later.” I put my foot down, side-stepping drunkard after drunkard until I finally got the path clear for both myself and Thalmin, who seed surprisingly sober and put together despite the tankards of ale I saw him downing.
“I don’t get it.” I began, refusing to acknowledge the crowds of clingy patrons that still insisted on trailing behind us. “Why aren’t you drunk yet?”
“Pacing.” Thalmin offered through a wide-eyed grin. “And so good old Havenbrockian tolerance.” He chuckled out, causing the gathered crowd of elves, satyrs, baxi, and about another handful of other species to chuckle in affirmation. “Alright, alright. That’s it. Fun’s over, people. Please moveout of the way.” Thalmin urged, standing up and taking step after wobbly step towards the glass elevator, prompting to lend him a shoulder to balance off of.
“Havenbrockian tolerance, huh?” I jabbed.
“I’ll walk it off.” Thalmin shot back confidently as we slowly, but surely, made our way up and out of the tavern.
The bouncer at the elevator thankfully helped to hold back much of the tide, keeping a wide berth while its double doors closed with a magical WHOOSH!
We stood silently together in silence as I helped to keep Thalmin steady until we finally arrived at our ninth-floor suite.
The views were breathtaking, at least for a town of this size.
However, as soon as we entered, I quickly found Thalmin moving to plop himself on one of the beds, lying face-first and mumbling tiredly all the while.
“That instrunt… what was—”
“Oh, erm, it was just a holo projection. A more advanced one than the reliable but frankly old ZNK-19 back at the dorm. Granted, I wasn’t able to project all of it because of the projector’s physical limitations, but—”
“Right…” Thalmin interrupted with a tired moan. “Good job on the music. I liked it. We should… ugh… we should talk more… about Earthrealm genres. I like how much of a buzz it caused down there.” Thalmin chuckled hard at that line as I found that once again, Havenbrockian humor simply bounced right off of .
“Thanks, haha. I er, I’ll admit I’m not the best. I was mostly just following a lot of preloaded instructions and—”
“I’m too tired to understand Earthrealm contraptions right now, Emma.” Thalmin interjected with a dulcet groan.
“Right, of course. Oh! And erm, I couldn’t help but notice you were quite the talk of the town down there yourself.” I offered with a chuckle, providing him an off-ramp to another topic entirely.
“Yeah… it’s typical commoners… they like to, well… attempt to climb the social ladder through shortcuts if they can.” He mumbled out.
“Wait, is that actually possible?” I offered, as my curiosities began getting the better of .
“Yeah, yeah… eh… kind of sort of, you know? Ugh, it’s a topic that’s uncommon, basically.”
“Right… that makes sense, I guess.” I acknowledged with a shrug.
We both ended up resting in that bedroom for an hour. Thalmin spent much of that ti breathing heavily and twisting this way and that in bed, occasionally spiking mana radiation warnings and causing the EVI to bring up the new wand interface just to get my feedback on it. anwhile, I sat on the floor at the foot of the prince’s bed, catching up on my reports and occasionally shooting the shit with the groggy prince.
“I’m a rcenary prince, Emma. Emphasis on the warrior aspect of my being. I’m sure you understand, from soldier to soldier, warrior to warrior, how large of a role celebrations play in the upkeep of morale and camaraderie."
“Yeah…” I acknowledged, my mind imdiately swinging back to the infamous videos of Aunty Ran and her squad following the victory day celebrations in the months and years following the Jovian insurrection. “Yeah… I can relate.”
“Though with that being said…” Thalmin trailed off, grumbling and huffing loudly as he brought himself to the edge of his bed, his legs dangling next to my left shoulder. “The latter aspect of my title still cos into play, mind you.”
I didn’t imdiately catch his drift, prompting to cock my head in response.
“As much as many lower houses of the lesser nobility may sully and muddle the image of all highborns, those amidst royalty — at least the royalty of Havenbrock — tend to be less… indulgent in the desires of the animal.”
My eyes widened at this, as I imdiately turned away, finally catching his aning. “Oh, ohhhhh. You an like— well… yeah, no. Back when nobility was still a big thing in our history, nobles were, like, notorious for that kind of stuff. Heck, I think it was the Louis line of French kings who were known to literally bring in mistresses into court and stuff.”
Thalmin’s features scrunched up at that off-handed remark, as he shook his head in disgust. “No wonder you got rid of them.” He spoke darkly. “I would have.”
“Hehe, well… the French people seed to be of the sa mind, though they probably had more pressing concerns than just the king’s private affairs and whatnot.” I offered vaguely, hoping Thalmin wouldn’t be curious enough to pry into the French Revolution, at least not now when he was still sowhat plastered.
“In any case… just know that while us Havenbrockians are, as you say — party animals — we have stringent rules over our principles in decorum. Especially for those of us that are betrothed.”
That latter line sent bells ringing in my head as I stretched my body out, sprawling up to the foot of the prince's bed.
“Wait, are you saying that you’re…”
“Yes, but not quite.” Thalmin answered abruptly. “Our fathers both understand that we are… close. She, however, is of a far lower house than I. So we shall wait and see if my brother will survive the next decade. If he does, then my marrying a lesser noble will be of little concern to the family lineage and dynastic politics. If he doesn’t? Then I shall be closer in line to the throne, thus necessitating a truly arranged marriage with soone more politically advantageous.” Thalmin remarked bluntly, my eyes narrowing, then widening, then narrowing again as hearing this from a friend’s mouth was… jarring, to say the least.
This was the type of talk one would expect from a Kings of Crusade playthrough, or heck, so Castle and Wyverns roleplay. But to hear matters of marriage and love laid out so… bluntly? With political considerations superseding love?
It was weird and was definitely pushing my fundantal systemic incongruency sowhat.
“So what’s the lucky girl’s na?” I finally shot back, getting over the cultural hump and diving headfirst back into the juicy tea.
“Asva. Lady Asva Rehlin of the House of Threepeaks.” Thalmin responded promptly.
“And how did you guys eeeeet?” I continued, crossing my legs with a tallic clang as I did so.
Thalmin chuckled nervously at this, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. “She was my squire. Then, as I joined the ranks and took up arms, she ascended into my Left Attending. My… ‘right hand’ or ‘second in command’, as the Nexians would say.”
My eyes lit up at that, as I couldn’t help but to chuckle. “So you fell for a childhood sweetheart? I can’t say I’m surprised, but gosh, that’s kinda sweet, Thalmin.” I giggled.
The prince, however, wasn’t having it, as he narrowed his eyes in response. “What’s that supposed to an?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing! It’s just, kind of a trope back ho — the proper and polished golden boy falling for a high school sweetheart.” I offered, prompting the prince to rely huff in understanding.
“You flatter , Emma… but rest assured, I am by no ans a… as you say, ‘golden boy’.” He chuckled out before effortlessly shifting all that montum back to . “So enough about . What about you, Cadet Emma Booker of Earthrealm? I don’t take your culture as one of betrothals, though considering you are Emma Booker and not just Emma, I don’t discount the possibility of houses and dynasties still existing in so fashion?”
“Welllll, to answer your latter question, big-shot family nas kiiinda still exist? But it’s rare. Like, it’s a niche cultural thing, and even then, you really aren’t defined by it—” I paused, thinking back to Aunty Ran, the Booker na, and the lineage on her side of the family that always seed to have at least one of their mbers joining the ard forces in so fashion. “Well, it’s less of a compulsory political thing and more of an optional family tradition thing, in the event that it does exist you know? Otherwise, for the most part in the mainstream? It’s kinda not really a thing.”
“Hmm… Things, things, things. So many things…” Ca Thalmin’s ponderous response, as he once again kicked his feet back and forth in the air. “Don’t think that just because you’ve answered my latter question in full, I’ve simply forgotten about the forr question, Emma.” He chuckled, egging on.
“Ugh, fiiiine, fiine. To put it simply, no, Thalmin. I’m not currently seeing anyone back ho.” I answered with a friendly sigh.
“Have you ever fancied anyone then?” He continued with a raised brow.
“Ehhhhh, kinda? So crushes here and there, but it never went anywhere. There was this one guy in swim class and this one girl in JROTC, but like, it was just puppy love, you know?” I shrugged.
“Well that’s good.” Thalmin responded coyly. “For a mont there I was worried you’d sohow grown to fancy . At which point, despite the potential for a grand inter-realm alliance, I’m afraid I’d have to decline, Cadet Emma Booker.” He spoke lackadaisically, jabbing in the shoulder with a kick of his foot, prompting to swat it away with a dry chuckle.
“Oh fuck off, Thalmin.” I laughed as we both eventually let out a series of tired snickers that faded off into the night.
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Dragon Heart’s Tower. Student Lounge. Local Ti: 2325 Hours
Lady Ladona
“Fancy seeing you here after curfew.” A sharp voice spoke, her words breaking through the night like a snap of lightning.
“You should know, Lady Ilphius, that curfews are… subject to a great number of extraneous circumstances. A group project here, a hall pass there, little gifts that can grant one a great deal of flexibility within the Academy grounds… just as the Everblooming Blossom was likewise a ticket into a great deal of flexibility outside of campus grounds.” I spoke softly, teasingly, sinking my claws and proboscis into the heart of this serpent’s insecurities.
Ilphius was an open book, as much as she attempted not to be. Which, ironically, stood in stark contrast to her conniving peer group leader… the ek and cowardly Etholin Esila.
That… creature was a mastermind in disguise, pulling the rug out from Lord Ping’s great and grand return to prominence, even going so far as to incur sothing of a debt from us by virtue of his forfeiture in Lord Ping’s stead.
And while social decorum didn’t see it as such — Etholin very much taking the fall in every sense of the word — I still felt slighted.
This… was an offense, as subtle as it may be, that I could not allow.
And so here I was in the midst of Lady Ilphius. The ever-conniving yet ignorant fool who would do anything to undermine Lord Esila’s authority.
A fractured kingdom… is one ripe for rot and reward, as they say.
“That forfeiture was not my idea.” Ilphius spoke bluntly, so bluntly that I scarcely registered it as genuine at first.
“Of course it wasn’t. It was your ever-brilliant peer leader’s plans, no?”
“Hmmph.” Was Ilphius’ only remark as she crossed her arms, her eyes staring out into the dark and lifeless night. “So what do you want, Lady Ladona? I don’t suppose you asked here just for a spot of tea?”
“Ever the observant mber of court, my lady.” I responded, flattering her ego and allowing her to beco comfortable around my presence. “Indeed, I had sothing of a business proposition… as your dear leader would say.” I quickly added, making certain to keep the fla of frustration alive in her subconscious.
“Go on?”
“We both understand that neither of us are enemies. Indeed, we both know that the root of our ills arises from one discrete individual.”
Ilphius narrowed her gaze, hissing out in the process. “The newrealr.”
“Indeed… and while she’s absent — taking on the quest that you and your peers rightfully deserve — you are in a unique opportunity to… how shall I say this…” I trailed off, allowing the serpent to incriminate herself.
“—make things right?” She completed my words for .
“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yes.”
“What do you propose?”
“The fulfillnt of a dream.” I spoke vaguely. “A dream born of hate, from a certain lesser avinor who desires couppance by virtue of her realm’s unfortunate colloquial moniker.”
“Airit? She’s with Qiv, there’s no way she lacks the discipline to act on her hatred, no matter how deep-seeded.” Ilphius countered.
“Perhaps. But whatever the case may be, I would say that the ball is now in your court, Lady Ilphius. I’m simply here to provide so much-needed context. Take this eting as a… friendly chat, one with no strings attached. Whether or not you wish to seize the day, or whether you wish to let this opportunity pass, is all up to you.” I spoke warmly, putting on a friendly and helpful smile, before simply departing with the seeds now sown for a harvest that may or may not co.
Whether she recruits Airit or does it herself is irrelevant. The path is now laid. The newrealr’s remaining peeragewillface retribution on her behalf.
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